Twilight
by Alphard
Summary: Set a couple of months after the war. Severus has mostly recovered; Remus has mostly not. A somewhat meandering fic, on picking up the pieces. Not slash.


_Note:_

This is set directly after Tide,_ in the Christmas break after the end of the war, but stands by itself. It may, however, be useful to note that I had Dumbledore send Remus to Berlin for the duration of the events concerning the Fidelius Charm, both to keep him out of trouble and from causing any. Remus left with the knowledge that he was not being trusted, and was only allowed to return after everything had mostly been settled. He was then hired to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts._

Finished 31st May 2005

* * *

**Twilight**

"I take it you've heard," Dumbledore said, lightly, "about the Ministry raid on Malfoy Manor yesterday."

It was a statement, and to answer was a waste of breath. Severus shrugged; if he wasn't ahead of the news, he didn't deserve to be Slytherin Head of House. "It's the third time they've done so, sir."

They wouldn't have found anything remotely incriminating, of course. Malfoy Manor contained a veritable maze of secret chambers and passages – almost as bad as Hogwarts. The Ministry didn't stand a chance.

"Do you think a fourth attempt would be worthwhile?"

_Oh._

He'd been expecting this. Professor Dumbledore had accepted that Severus would not name names, but he wasn't against prodding him for information about how conclusive evidence could be found. Everybody already knew Lucius was a Death Eater; it only needed to be proved.

Severus held the headmaster's stare for as long as he could. Then he blinked, glancing away. "I don't think so."

A short pause. Albus Dumbledore exhaled in a faint sigh. "Well. I suppose you're right, Severus."

There was disappointment in his voice. Severus shut his eyes momentarily. _Another failed test._ "Will that be all, sir?"

"For now, yes." Dumbledore sat back in his chair, regarding him thoughtfully. "There are punishments other than Azkaban."

Severus thought of Sirius Black. Two months after his arrest the _Daily Prophet_ had run a special feature on how he was doing in Azkaban. It was tasteless but vivid, and it'd taken a long while to fit his memory of Sirius Black to the figure in the photographs. "It's certainly difficult to think of a worse one."

"Gloating does not become you, Severus," Dumbledore said, sharply. "Dismissed."

Severus stepped backwards in puzzlement before he turned to leave. _Gloating?_

Then again, perhaps he had reason to gloat – after all, he'd been the first to realise that Black's malice ran to more than just schoolboy pranks. Black had tried to kill him and the entire faculty had condoned it; Severus had observed, correctly, the blatant assumption that Slytherin was the only house capable of evil.

And then it had turned out that Sirius Black, the one Gryffindor in his family and lauded as proof that maybe the aristocratic bloodstock wasn't all bad, had performed a sleight-of-hand worthy of any Slytherin, any Black.

_Surely it isn't entirely unreasonable to at least feel vindicated. _

Somebody passed him in the corridor. Severus stopped and turned to see the retreating back of Remus Lupin, blinking in the glare of sunlight before he realised what was wrong: the werewolf's hair was beginning to grey.

_When did that happen?_

He felt a little sick. Lupin had a habit of causing that. In the past couple of months Severus had managed to pick up most of the pieces of his life. For a while he'd been disturbed by how he seemed to have difficulty remembering the period of his involvement in the war, but he'd been assured that it was normal, a sort of scabbing-over of the memory.

Seeing Lupin always broke those scabs. Severus had been correct there, too – Lupin was the coddled werewolf, too trusting for his own good and too dependent on his phenomenal luck, which had finally run out. Severus, on the other hand, trusted nothing and nobody and had had to build his world from scratch so many times that he'd almost got used to it.

When he was alone he could just about believe that. In front of Lupin he was disgusted with himself for constructing that story, knew that there had been no skill involved in any of it. Sirius Black was in Azkaban and Lucius was not; the Potters were dead and Voldemort had fallen. The fact that for once the cards were stacked in Severus' favour meant absolutely nothing.

Severus shook his head and continued walking. _Dumbledore should have just left him in Berlin. It'd probably have been better for everybody._

.

Remus Lupin lay back on the couch in his office and stared at the ceiling. Christmas this year was going to be difficult to get through. Hogwarts was too horribly familiar; he was even still using the Shrieking Shack during full moons. It was impossible not to be reminded of his schooldays, which naturally led to the realisation that things were now quite different.

Perhaps he should have stayed in Berlin, after all.

_That's not what you thought when you were there._

Remus rubbed his temples wearily._ No._

When Dumbledore had first sent him to Berlin he'd been glad; knowing that nobody trusted him had made it too painful to face them. It was only a few weeks later that he'd realised that he'd left England and the Marauders behind, that England was _home,_ he had absolutely no right to be alive in Berlin when people were getting killed in England.

He'd never quite thought that he would be fighting for a chance to die – it sounded like the sort of daft thing James and Sirius would do – but there it was.

And then he'd read about the end of the war in the papers. Remus had quietly assumed that the Potters were actually still alive because he knew things were never that simple, and because it made sense – there would be Death Eaters still around after Voldemort's disappearance, hungry for revenge. He'd paced his quarters for hours in desperate panic because Lily would be so angry to find that he'd gained weight all by himself – the Germans had placed him under a sort of glorified house arrest and glowered at him as though any loss of appetite would be construed as a hunger strike – she would make him lose the extra pounds and then gain them a second time under the Potters' care. He'd laughed himself sick afterwards; it was dizzyingly novel to be worrying over completely irrelevant things for once. It didn't matter. What mattered was that they were all safe, and the relief that came with the word 'safe' made him want to cry.

The days passed and Remus continued reading the papers, pacing more and more furiously afterwards because he had stopped understanding their plan, they probably didn't even have one because Remus had always been the tactician among them – while the Berliners watched him with increasingly sickened expressions until somebody broke and told him that there was no plan, not because he was not there but because the Potters really were dead, Peter really was dead, and would he please stop.

Remus had apologised, very quietly, and stopped his pacing.

And three days later Professor Dumbledore had sent for him to come home to England, to Hogwarts and the deceptive, accusing permanence of the castle stones.

_This isn't something I can live with._

Remus shut his eyes. He was famed for resilience; he knew Dumbledore wanted him to prove that they were once more worrying unnecessarily.

_But I don't know whether I can do it this time._

.

"I wish you would speak to Remus, Severus."

Severus stared at Professor Minerva McGonagall. "What?"

"I think you heard correctly the first time."

"I meant I don't understand why." Severus paused before adding, "Minerva." He watched her cheeks colour in startlement. They were colleagues now; she had no right to give him instructions as though he were still in Transfigurations class.

"You've noticed the way he behaves," Professor McGonagall snapped. "You were schoolmates."

"I'm glad you remember. You should also try to remember how we got along as schoolmates."

Professor McGonagall smiled. "Yes, Severus. And you are not schoolboys anymore. I had hoped you had learnt a little since then."

"Professor Dumbledore told you to say that," Severus said flatly, controlling his anger. Anger made him look foolish, gave her more to shame him with.

"Perhaps." Professor McGonagall sighed. "Severus, please. We're desperate."

"What makes you think I can help?" Severus winced, mentally. _Now I've all but agreed._

She had the grace not to press her point. "Nothing. Even so."

"I'll think about it. Now go away, please." He couldn't keep the sullenness out of his voice.

"All right. Goodbye."

She hadn't thanked him; that would have been the last straw. Severus glared at the shut door. _I could just ignore it. It's not as if I promised anything._

But that would prove that he really was just a schoolboy. _Damn the old man and his mind games. He must have rehearsed that entire conversation with her._

And now he would have to talk to the werewolf. _What about? Say that Sirius Black had it coming to him, I told you so?_

He remembered Dumbledore's words – a reprimand. _Gloating does not become you, Severus._

Severus scowled. This was ridiculous. He wasn't expected to actually accomplish anything, he could simply sit in Lupin's office until one of them lost patience, and that would be all anyone could plausibly ask of him.

That sounded reasonable. _All right. I'll do just that._

.

He found the werewolf lying on a couch in his quarters, apparently asleep. "Lupin."

"I'm awake." Lupin sat up slowly, shifting his weight, resting his elbows on his knees. Severus stared at the dull streaks in his hair, obvious even in late evening sunlight, the beginnings of grey. The werewolf smiled. "These must be confused times indeed, Severus, if you came on your own."

Severus set his jaw. "Dumbledore sent me and you know it."

"I know it. Sit down."

"No, thank you."

Lupin shrugged. "Suit yourself."

Severus waited. Nothing came, and after a few minutes he exhaled in vague exasperation and turned to leave. _There now. No one can say I didn't try._

"Severus."

He stopped without turning. "Well?"

"I was… looking for the correct words. I want to ask you something."

Severus breathed deeply and turned. "Well?" he repeated.

Remus Lupin glanced up at him. "Tell me, Severus. How do you live with everything you've done?"

_Everything I've – _

The werewolf continued talking, softly. "Things are… very different from the way they used to be. A lot of your housemates are dead, or arrested. Or still at large."

_Lucius._

Lupin looked up at him, grey eyes searching. "And you… simply do whatever it is that you do. How do you live with that?"

Severus swallowed, hard. "I think I should hit you, Lupin."

Lupin blinked, puzzled and faintly hurt. "It was an honest question."

_What does he want?_ The curious lost expression on Lupin's face was something new, and Severus didn't know what to do about it. It had always been Lupin who had all the answers; nobody had ever asked _him_ for advice before.

It dawned on him that the werewolf was almost envious. He might as well have pulled Severus aside and asked him what the secret was, how he had done it.

_Was that why they wanted me to speak to him?_

Lupin was watching him as though he was supposed to provide the meaning of life. Severus settled himself awkwardly on the armchair next to the werewolf, occupying himself with movement. "I don't think about it," he eventually replied.

The werewolf's brow furrowed. "Is that a good thing?"

Severus shrugged. "It keeps me alive and sane. I think that's a good thing." He paused before adding, a little distantly, "Some things you can't question."

Lupin bit his lip. Severus knew that he was thinking about Sirius Black, the single question everybody had asked. _Why did he do that?_

Questions like that could destroy a person. _Why did I choose to save Lucius; why, if I cared, did I cross over at all. Why was I ever a Death Eater._

"It shouldn't be that way," Lupin murmured, softly.

Severus shrugged again. "Maybe." The light was dimming swiftly into greyish twilight; Lupin had not lit the lamps. Severus waited for a few more minutes, and then got up and made to leave.

"Severus."

Severus stopped with his hand on the doorknob. "What, are you afraid of the dark or something?"

"I was only going to thank you."

Severus turned, impulsively. Remus Lupin was standing, hands in pockets and smiling faintly, a pale ghost in dim light of the way he had always been. "Don't be ridiculous," he muttered, and let himself out of the office.

_End

* * *

Notes:_

I should confess that I don't actually know what is going on in this fic. It was meant to operate on one key phrase: reversal of roles. I've always noticed that despite the lycanthropy Remus is pretty lucky – he's a Gryffindor, he had the entire faculty in support of him during the Trick, he has friends. Severus, by comparison, tends to get the short end of the stick. After the war, though, Remus loses virtually everything, whereas Severus seems to have managed to come out on top.

Then it sort of went all over the place. In any case, I had not planned for Sirius and Lucius to hover above the text like ghosts, which is what actually happened. The entire story leaves me with a persistent image of twilight – an aftermath, something faded, thin and left over. I don't think I did it on purpose but it seems to work well, which is the main reason why this is online. I don't consider it a particularly good piece of work otherwise.

This story takes place during that awkward stage just before Severus becomes the Professor Snape of the books. He really wants to gloat. Professor Snape would have gloated. But he can't, not as long as Remus Lupin is there with all the horror of the war fresh in his expression and his greying hair.

(Remus leaves a few months later. And by Prisoner of Azkaban he's all cheerful again, so Professor Snape can gloat with abandon.)

I've always believed that Severus is a very decent chap in times of great change. Also very confused, possibly because of being decent.

I really hate writing post-war Remus because the angst is so damn predictable and there's such a lot of it. It's been done so many times that even to mention it seems like too much. Yet it's there,_ I can't not write it. The Remus-in-Berlin sequence was originally almost half a fic all by itself, only the ennui and the sheer amount of angst I was determinedly not writing nearly killed me._

The only thing I have to say is that Dumbledore's faith in Remus has never been misplaced; Remus really does always prove in the end that everybody's worries are unfounded. It's just that the way he deals with the idea of Sirius' betrayal – accepting it without question, and not thinking about it most of the time – strikes me as the kind of thing Severus Snape normally does.

(And, um, I think Willy Loman in Death of A Salesman_ really does pull Bernard aside in one scene to ask 'What is the secret? How did you do it?') _


End file.
